


Seven For A Secret Never To Be Told

by SilveryEvenStar



Category: A Charm of Magpies Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: During Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Homophobia, Hurt Lucien, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Physical Abuse, Protective Merrick, Protective Stephen, Unabashed use of 'Fluence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-07-28 08:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20061136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilveryEvenStar/pseuds/SilveryEvenStar
Summary: ~Completed~“Were you frightened of Hector, as a child?" asked Stephen.“Terrified," replied Lucien.A chance encounter with an old friend of Hector Vaudrey's, who enjoyed tormenting Lucien as a child, stirs up painful and humiliating memories for Lord Crane. Stephen assures Crane that this traumatic past does not alter his love for him.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

“Lucy! Thought you were rotting away in China, old chap!” Lucien turned towards the vaguely familiar voice with trepidation. Why he felt so wary was not immediately clear to him, but his smuggler’s instincts kicked into high alert. At his side, Stephen felt his lover’s tension, and imperceptibly stood taller; alert and watchful. 

A tall man, with shoulders as broad as a carriage door, and a physique that looked to be carved out of molten steel, came striding up to Lucien with a hand extended. The man’s face was practically glowing with an imperious grin. His wolfish teeth glistened as he pumped Lucien’s hand with vigorous dominance. “Little Lucy! Never thought to see you again. How are you, old chap?”

“Tully. How disappointing to see you. I expected you to be cavorting around the continent with your ill-gotten gains, some disreputable tart by your side.” His tone was dry, deadpan, but Stephen could sense the anxiety behind the bravado. 

Tully’s jaw tightened a fraction, but he let out a laugh. “We can’t all live your life, can we, Lucy, eh?” 

“Suppose you’re right. Such a life would have required a level of imagination you never possessed.”

Tully stood quiet a moment, then said, “True. Your brother always had more of an imagination that I.” His eyes fixed on Lucien’s. “But surely you must remember that, Lucy.” 

“I go by the name Lord Crane, these days, Tully,” Lucien drawled, bored. 

_ Shit_, thought Stephen, as he watched Tully grin wolfishly. _ Wrong move_. _ Should’ve left the name alone. _

“What a tragedy to hear about the untimely demise of the late Lord Crane, your brother, Lucy. My apologies for offering my condolences so late, but I didn’t see you at the funeral. There were a few of us there -- Butts, Spiro, Agnews -- all looking forward to...condoling...with you. Thought we might take a ramble through the old attic rooms to reminisce on old times. Shame you couldn’t be there.” His voice was smooth as cream, and soft as silk. Lethal. 

“Lord Crane?” Stephen’s sharp voice cut through the treacherous silk. “We shall be late.” 

Lucien’s quick blink was the only outward sign that he had been carried back to Piper for a moment by Tully’s words. Glancing at Stephen he nodded, “Indeed. Apologies for the delay, Mr. Day.” Turning his gaze back to Tully, he smiled coldly. “I can’t think of a more fitting end for a fucking brute like my brother. Dying alone and in despair; surrounded, in his last days, by a gaggle of dimwitted goons who couldn’t tell a cunt from a cock while he was being fucked in a back alley whorehouse.” 

Whatever reaction Tully had been expecting, that had not been it. His face snapped back with spring-loaded recoil. He recovered quickly, though, and hissed out with murderous fury, “Don’t you dare speak to me like that, you syphilitic pansy. Your brother’s money and title won’t save you from rotting in prison with the rest of your unnatural,” he ran his eyes over Stephen’s smaller form, lips curling in repugnance, “sodomite_ friends._” 

Stepping in front of Stephen, Lucien drew himself up to full height, which topped out a good few inches above Tully. “Threatening me, Tully? How fucking predicable. You think you can threaten me with mere rumours and gossip, when I know all the gory details of the despicable obscenities you and my brother got up to? Hm?"

"You know nothing, you fucking nancy!"

"Don't I, you pus-filled sack of horse shit? You were quite the artist back in the day. Eager to sign your work, too, you thick mongrel.” 

Tully’s face went rigid and red. Stephen had no idea what Lucien was using as blackmail, but it had been effective._ For now. _

“Lord Crane, your appointment,” he implored. _ Please, Lucien_, he thought. Vaudrey and Tully stared one another down for a long, silent moment, then Vaudrey turned to leave. 

“Yes, run along with your missus, Lucy,” mocked Tully. 

Before Lucien had even fully whirled around, Tully was on the ground, prostrate. Stephen was kneeling down, one hand on Tully’s elbow, another on his hand, helping him up. “You must be careful where you step, Sir. A knock on the head like that can be dangerous. Luckily, there was no harm done. You’re going to go home and forget all about meeting Lord Crane. In fact, you won’t think about any of the Crane family at all because they are all dull and uninteresting, and not worth your thoughts. Now, up you come.” 

Tully looked at Stephen and smiled, embarrassed. “Must have fallen over a loose cobble. Terribly kind of you, old chap.” Dusting off his coat sleeve, he noticed a rip. “I’d best be getting home to get these fixed up. Thanks again.” With that, he walked off. 

Stephen turned to his lover. “Home.” His tone brooked no argument. Lucien obeyed.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Stephen could feel the uneasiness rolling off Lucien’s tall frame beside him as they walked. He was walking so quickly that Stephen was practically trotting to keep up. His own spirit was disquieted, as well, but he suspected its origin was different from Lucien’s. Stephen briefly considered whether or not his etheric punch and subsequent use of ‘Fluence was ethical, then dismissed the thought from his mind. There had been no lasting harm, and he had been using his power to deescalate a potentially violent standoff, and...well, Tully had been a fucking bastard and had really got off lightly.

He glanced up at his partner. Lucien’s face was tight, his eyes menacing. _ He’s remembering the past_, thought Stephen. He wished he could take his lover’s arm, run his fingers down the side of his face to calm him. But now they had to be more careful than ever. An unexpected pang of guilt sparked through the practitioner. _ If we were in Shanghai, nothing like this would have happened. _What was the use of thinking like that, he reflected bitterly. His life was in London, with the Justiciary. What was he supposed to do in Shanghai? Become a shaman?

They arrived at Lucien’s townhouse. Lord Crane threw open the great black door as if it had personally offended him. The resounding echo of the door against the stone ricocheted throughout the hallway. Stephen hesitated a moment. Should he go up with Lucien, or go round the back to the servant’s entrance? _ Hellfire, _ he thought. _ If London’s eyes are already on us, then it doesn’t matter which damn door we use now. _He trotted up the stairs, Lucien’s form already disappearing. 

Lucien was gulping down a hefty measure of brandy when Stephen came into the room. “Lucien?” he asked tentatively, “are you--”

The brandy glass went hurtling through the air, and landed with a rather spectacular crash against the stone fireplace, inches from Merrick’s startled face. “What the bloody fuck do you think you’re doing, Vaudrey?” hissed the henchman, infuriated. “You had better not be having some fucking type of aristocratic tantrum. That glass was your lady mother’s.” 

“I don’t care a rat’s balls for her damn glasses,” spat Lucien, reaching for the other next to the decanter. 

“If you throw that one, too, I will break your fucking arm, Vaudrey! Those are the only things of your mum you have left.” As Lucien closed his fist around it, Merrick moved toward him. 

“Stop it! Now!” shouted Stephen. Both men stopped. “Merrick, sit. Lucien, let me pour that for you. In fact, let’s all sit and have a drink.” Lucien let out a deep sigh, deflating. 

“Never knew you were sentimental about the stemware, Merrick.” His voice sounded not-quite-right. 

“I’m not,” the man asserted. “But you’d regret it if you broke them all.” Lucien nodded. “What’s all this about then?” he asked, taking the proffered glass from Day’s hand. 

Lucien scrubbed a hand over his face, then through his hair, rumpling the slicked-back coif. He felt the marvelous tingling of Stephen’s fingertips kneading the back of his neck. He leaned into it, and sighed again. “We had the distinct misfortune of running into Tristivane Tully an hour ago.” Merrick’s eyes sharpened, he sucked in a breath. 

“He recognize you?” 

“Of course he fucking recognized me, Merrick! I spent years of my life with his boot prints on my back!” Merrick’s eyes darted toward Stephen, trying to communicate something, but what, Stephen didn’t know. 

Settling Lucien next to his chest, Stephen asked, “Who is Tristivane Tully, and how is he connected to you? I can take a guess, but I’d rather hear it from you.” Lucien sighed again, reached for Stephen’s brandy, which hadn’t yet been touched, and downed it in one go. 

An echo of a remembered conversation rang through Stephen’s head: “When I heard Hector was dead, we got drunk for a week.” Without a word, Merrick got up, returned with the bottle, and poured another generous measure in all three glasses. _Merrick gave him that look again._ _What the hell did it mean? _

“Tully and my dearly departed brother, Hector, were best mates. Two birds of a feather. That, in and of itself, should give you an idea of what Tully is like.” Hector had terrorized Lucien when they were boys, remembered Stephen. After his ghost appeared, Stephen, who barely knew Crane then, had asked whether or not he had been afraid of Hector as a child. “Terrified,” the older man had replied, “I used to spend half my time in the attic hiding from him. One holiday he found me and broke my leg in a door so I couldn’t run away. It took him three tries.”* 

Running his hands soothingly up and down Lucien’s arms, Stephen prompted in a low voice, “he and Hector were cruel to you.” He heard Merrick make a noise that was a cross between a snort and a growl. Vaudrey said nothing, just grabbed his brandy and downed it. 

He opened his mouth three or four times to speak, but closed it again. Silent. Eventually he settled on, “quite.” Stephen tightened his grip on his lover’s body. Lucien was not a reticent man with him, and he had never known the trader to shy away from the details of a story. His general preference, when sharing stories of pain or degradation, was to tell it with understated humor and finality, leaving it to Stephen to decipher how Crane must have felt about it. This was quite different. He was alarmed, and began to realize what Merrick’s warning looks had been regarding. 

Lucien stood up suddenly, disengaging himself from Stephen’s arms. “I’m going to have a lie-down for a bit. Not quite feeling the thing at the moment. I’m alright, Stephen,” he hastened to add as he saw the practitioner’s mouth open, “I’d just like some time to shut my eyes. Been quite the afternoon.” He strolled out of the room, and the two men heard the bedroom door close, and lock. 

Merrick downed his brandy. Between lord and manservant, they had killed half the bottle. _ Probably won’t even feel a thing in the morning_, marveled Stephen, as he sipped his measure with sensibility. “What did he say to him?” asked Merrick, his voice quiet. 

“Some implications of childhood bullying - even called him Lucy. Nothing that was nearly as despicable or malevolent as I’m sure he’s heard before, but he lost his head over it. I’m not saying he didn’t have good reason,” continued Stephen quickly at Merrick’s glower, “only that I don’t understand the cause of it.” The older man was silent. “What happened back then, Merrick?” 

The henchman took another swallow of alcohol, and pushed the decanter towards Stephen. “You might want another few gulps, Mr. Day. You’ll want to be drunk to hear this.”

* * *

* Quote from A Charm of Magpies


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Merrick looked up at Stephen with a hesitant expression. “Could you put up that silencing charm thing? I’d rather not have Vaudrey listening. Stephen felt a sinking sensation pulling at his stomach as he raised his fingers. Merrick nodded when he felt the silence envelop them. “Right then. There’s no easy way to go about this, Mr. Day. It’s a sad story and you’ll be angry as hell to hear it. It’s not a pretty story either, and once you know somethings, you can’t unknow them, if you take my meaning, sir. You still want to me to continue?” 

Stephen nodded. “If he could stand whatever it was being done to him, I can stand to listen to it.” Merrick gave him an approving look.

“Right then.” He took a large swallow of brandy and leaned forward in his chair. “Hector Vaudrey was a sick, twisted bastard with an iron anchor in his chest for a heart. He was always vicious. Took pleasure in it. Not just in the acts of cruelty, either, mind, but in the way their recounting would make others squirm. Way I heard it, when he was a boy, he played all manner of cruel tricks on the servants - leaving dismembered animals in their beds, throwing the few precious possessions they owned in the fire, and the like. Lady Crane was horrified. She was always scolding Hector, and got Lord Crane to thrash him on occasion, even though she’d be standing next to her son crying the entire time, but she thought it might help. Spare the rod, spoil the child sort of thing. Well, it didn’t work. He continued to grow up to be even crueler and more hard-hearted than his father. General thought around Piper was that Lady Crane ran off after the birth of his lordship because she couldn’t take the idea of another terror-child running riot in her house.”

That made sense to Stephen._ I wouldn’t want to stick around and watch as my next son turns into his brother. Poor Lucien_. “Is that what Lucien thinks?” 

Merrick pondered this. “Not rightly sure. On some level he does, but I think he blames himself for her running off. He’d never own to it, though.” He took a swallow, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and glanced up at the door to the bedroom where his master was. “Now, remember, I didn’t see none of this first hand. What I’m telling you, I heard from Vaudrey himself, Hector, or the servants. So it goes like this. Young Vaudrey has a fairly pleasant early childhood (as pleasant as it can be with nutters like his father and brother as family). When his lordship is around five, Hector takes him out fishing. They have a servant boy go with them to help with tackle and whatnot. Now Hector thinks this is the perfect time to teach his younger brother the Vaudrey way. He trips the servant boy, kicks him in the stomach until the boy starts crying and choking up blood, ties his arms with fishing line, and then tells young Vaudrey to put the fishing hook through the boy’s nose so they can use him as bait.” 

Stephen felt bile rising up into his throat and swallowed it back. He grabbed his glass of brandy and threw it back in a gulp. Merrick gave him a tight, humorless smile. 

“Vaudrey, terrified out of his wits at the barbarity of his older brother, refuses. Hector's not one to accept a refusal. He grabs his brother's arm and begins to twist it. Still Vaudrey refuses. Hector continues, getting more and more enraged at his brother’s refusals, and looks around for another method of...persuasion. That’s the moment that his lordship drives the fishing hook into Hector’s cheek.” There was a decided note of pride in Merrick’s voice at that. “Well, now Hector wasn’t going to stand for that kind of disobedience. Twisting Vaudrey's arm on the ground, he stomps on the elbow with his boot, and breaks it. Then, he ties the fishing line to the wrist of his broken arm, and drags him across the field. That was just the beginning.” Merrick got up and poured himself another drink, refilling Stephen’s glass. 

“His father did nothing to punish Hector?” Stephen knew the answer before Merrick gave it. 

“He never found out. Even then, young as he was, his lordship knew that to complain of mistreatment was to be labeled a coward. I’ll spare you the details of the beatings and the terrorizing, though I bet you can guess them. Suffice it to say, it never got better, got worse in fact as Vaudrey got older.” He paused a moment and cleared his throat. 

“Now, Hector had a friend,” the word _ friend _ was spoken as an insult, “who would come to spend holidays at Piper." 

“Tristivane Tully,” guessed Stephen. Merrick nodded. 

“Every bit as rotten and cruel as Hector. Twisted little pervert who got off watching Hector beat the shit out of his brother.”

Stephen’s heart contracted painfully. _ Lucien. How could anyone have even survived such a horrendous childhood? _

“Well, his lordship was home, had just been kicked out of some fancy school for shagging blokes.” Stephen twitched uncomfortably on the couch. “He was fifteen. Tully had the idea--” Merrick broke off. His face was a purplish red. Stephen could sense the anger bubbling under his pores. He watched the older man’s fists squeeze so tightly the knuckles turned white. “That rat-faced pervert, Tully, had the idea that if Vaudrey liked sucking cock so much, he could…,” he paused and gnashed his teeth together, “...he could ‘use his skills on his betters.’” 

“No!” Stephen breathed out, horrified. _ Oh God, Lucien. _ The practitioner felt tears prickle at his eyes. “Did they both…?” he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. 

Merrick nodded, unable to speak. 

“How long?” 

“Till he got sent to China. Two years.” Two tears dropped down Stephen’s cheeks. He didn’t wipe them away. _ Two years? To have your brother and his friend do that to you for two years? How did he even survive it? China must have been such a welcomed relief._

“Mr. Day?” Stephen’s tearful eyes met Merrick’s smoldering ones. “I want that man dead. I want to kill him my bloody self.” His voice was low and menacing. Stephen understood why he had the reputation he did. “I know you don’t much go in for killing, but Tully deserves no mercy.” 

“No, he does not,” ground out Stephen forcefully. “But we cannot act rashly. This requires planning and--” 

A noise from the bedroom interrupted his words. Lucien was whimpering. Merrick sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “I was afraid of those. Nightmares, Mr. Day. More like memories, probably." He took Stephen's glass out of his hand. "Go to him,” he commanded needlessly as Stephen had already risen to his feet. At the door of the bedroom, Stephen turned. 

“Thank you for telling me all this, Merrick. Tully will pay. There will be justice.” His golden eyes shone with a hard glint, that gave Merrick a promise of real justice, China justice, not soft, English justiciar justice. He gave the practitioner a feral smile. 

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Lucien was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. His blonde hair clung to his moist face, and his hands tightly clenched the bed sheets as his head thrashed slightly from side to side. _ He looks so young lying there _, thought Stephen. The cries became louder and more frantic. As Stephen placed his hand on his lover’s forehead, he called, “Lucien, wake up. Lucien.” The eighth Lord Crane continued to struggle and whimper. “It’s Stephen, Lucien. It’s just Stephen. I’m here now. Wake up.” With a loud breath, the taller man woke with a start, bolting upright, nearly colliding heads with the practitioner. 

“Stephen—what—I—where—?”

“You had a dream, love. You’re safe now. You’re with me.” Stephen tenderly stroked his lover’s cheek.

“I—Hector…” began Lucien miserably. The dream had been frighteningly vivid and realistic. He could smell the mold of the attic, and hear the creak of the floorboards as Tully crept up the stairs. 

“Take a deep breath now. That’s it, slow and steady,” Stephen encouraged. Lucien hung his head in embarrassment. “Must have been quite a dream.”

“I could see his face,” whispered Lucien, “and smell…” he trailed off. Crane looked into his lover’s eyes, uneasy about what he might see reflected there. He was startled to see Stephen’s amber irises lined in black, his face clouded, brows knitted together in thunderous anger. Lucien hung his head again, and backed out of Stephen’s touch, rising from the bed, running a hand through his damp hair. “I’m sorry I disturbed you. Frightfully dull of me. I think I need another drink.” 

Stephen quickly rose and placed his hands on Crane’s arms. “Lucien, it’s alright. Don’t run away from me. I’m not upset with you. You didn’t disturb me.” The man’s fingers tingled through the wool twill of Lucien’s Hawkes and Cheney suit. Lucien allowed himself to be stroked by Stephen, but he said nothing further. _ Should I tell him that Merrick has already told me the story? Or will he think that a betrayal of confidence _, wondered Stephen worriedly. 

“It’s a damn fine day out, my sweet. How about a stroll down the river? I’m feeling restless with all this indoors business.” His face was tight and the vein at his temple pulsed. Stephen brushed it with his finger tips, hoping the sensation would provide some relief. _Perhaps some relief might be just the ticket_, he thought. 

Running his hands down his lover’s sides, and along the waistband of his trousers, he purred, “I can think of a way to take care of your restlessness, my lord.” 

Lucien closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and laying his forehead against Day’s, kissed him gently and tenderly. “Let’s go for a stroll, shall we?” And he walked out of the bedroom. 

To say Stephen was stunned was an understatement. If Esther had shown up, dressed in nothing but her garters, and attempted to seduce him, he couldn’t have been more surprised. Lucien had never refused sex. Never. Not once. Not after that business at Piper, not after the incidents with the rats, not after their run in with Lady Bruten, never. Stephen had been appropriately worried when he’d heard Lucien’s nightmarish whimpering. Now, he was alarmed. _ Are these memories so powerful that they are making him afraid of intimacy? _ Stephen did not have any expertise in this area. _ Should he force Crane to share these memories with him? Would that help him or only cause him to further pull away? _

As he stood in the bedroom, gaping like a fish on a line, considering options, Merrick came in. “You better have some fucking good reason why you’re letting him leave this house on his own. His face is white as a fucking geisha’s arse. I warned you that knowing everything couldn’t be taken back, but I didn’t expect you to let him deal with it on his own.” Merrick’s voice was low and furious. 

“I just...I didn’t mean...he refused s--,” _ No, he would not share that detail with Merrick _. The burly man looked unimpressed. “I’m headed after him,” he finally got out. 

“Well hurry the fuck up then, Mr. Day. He’s already out the damn door.”

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for you, MixBerkaan!

* * *

Lucien’s heart was pounding. He walked quicker. _ Holy fuck_, he thought, alarmed. _ Holy fucking hell_. He increased his pace until he was almost trotting. Stephen had run those magical fingers down his skin, and he had felt nauseous. Not some form of mental nausea, either, or however that chap Freud from the papers would say. Actual, physical nausea. _ This cannot be happening _ , he thought frantically. _ Have I been doomed to a miserable fucking life of chaste touches? Like hell I am_, he thought viciously, willing his panicked thoughts to recede. But the panic kept rising. _ All of this was Hector’s fault. That piss-bathing horse fucker_, he growled to himself. _ Bad enough he -- _ no, he wouldn’t think of it. Lucien felt his skin prickling as the hairs on his arms raised in time with his fury. 

He had no destination in mind as he stormed through the streets, oblivious to the other pedestrians who actively withdrew from his glowering form. He was rather surprised, therefore, when he tripped over a tree root, and realized that he was in St. James’ Park, along one of the narrower lanes that ran in between the stately rows of hollyhocks. It had been a gloriously sunny day a few hours before, but the clouds had rolled in, it seemed. _ Oh fucking hell_, he realized, _ it was the damn magpies_. Hundred of them, blocking out the sunlight between the trees. He felt hemmed in, trapped by the thick, manicured brush, and the birds. Was there nowhere he could go to be alone? To be free? 

“...cien! Lucien?” he whirled to his right, confused, saw no one. “Lucien, love.” He felt a gentle tug on his left arm. Stephen. The smaller man was panting, small droplets of sweat beading on his forehead. _ He must have run_, thought Crane. “Love, come sit down.” He gestured to a bench in a small, secluded grove, that Crane was damn near positive had not been there before. 

Lucien let himself be led to the bench, his vision slightly out of focus. “Did you...? Was this…?” he gestured vaguely to their private surroundings. Stephen nodded and ushered him onto the bench. He took both of Lucien’s hands in his smaller grip and rubbed them together. 

“I’m sorry I pushed my attentions on you back there,” he began quietly, but urgently, voice slightly breathy from his run. “I should have realized that you wouldn’t want to--” 

“Stephen, please!” Lucien wrenched his hands away and covered his face, massaging his temples. He did not want to talk about this._ Not here. Not now. Not ever. _

The practitioner took a long look at his lover. The taller man was trembling slightly, and his skin was clammy and pale. Almost as if he was about to be sick. Gently reaching up, Stephen took a trembling hand in his and pulled it away from Lucien’s face. In a soft and soothing voice he implored, “Lucien, love, please look at me.” Slowly, Lucien’s other hand came away from his face, and he turned his panicked eyes to Stephen’s tawny ones. Entwining his fingers with his lover’s he spoke slowly and deliberately. “I love you, Lucien. You have nothing to fear from me.” With his free hand, Stephen cupped his lover’s face and held his gaze. “No one will see us or hear us here. It’s just you and I.” 

Lucien felt some of the panic ebb away. He wasn’t feeling nauseous now. _ Perhaps that had been a momentary panic? _After all, Stephen was touching him, intimately for a public place, and his stomach wasn’t roiling. He closed his eyes a moment, and took a couple shuddering breaths. “I’m sorry,” he whispered when he opened his eyes again. 

“Whatever for?” asked Day, puzzled. “I alarmed you.” 

Lucien shook his head slightly. “I shouldn’t have run off like that. I just felt so...confined. I...I had to get away, but I couldn’t think clearly, and…”

“Shhh,” soothed Stephen. “That is not your fault, Lucien. You couldn’t have got far, anyway. Not with all the magpies.” Lucien smiled faintly. 

They sat for several minutes in silence on the bench. When Stephen could no longer see the blood wildly pulsing in Crane’s neck, he spoke. “What did I do that upset you?”

“It was nothing that you did, lovely boy.” He made as if to speak further, but closed his mouth. 

Stephen rubbed his thumb over the back of Crane’s hand. “What did I do that made you remember, then?”

_ Perceptive _, thought Lucien. He was silent a long moment, willing the words to come. “It was the thought of...of…” he couldn’t say it. What would Stephen think of him? He hung his head. 

“Sex?” prompted Stephen gently, compassionately. Lucien winced as if Stephen had accosted him. 

“Yes,” he whispered, ashamed. “The thought of it. With you. It felt wrong.” He whispered so softly that Stephen had to bend his ear to hear. 

“Because you thought I might hurt you?” The practitioner’s voice was even, neutral. 

“Perhaps slightly, I suppose. It was a sick feeling. Like I used to feel before I had to… before they made me suck them off, I would be so frightfully ill. Stomach in knots. But I think it was more than that, too,” he continued quietly. “I felt… it felt… it seemed wrong for you to want to touch me, once you knew.” 

He felt Stephen stiffen and increase the pressure on his hand. “But, Lucien,” he spluttered confused, “I know you were forced to, erm, sell your body in Shanghai. That hasn’t stopped me wanting you.” 

Lucien looked up at him, almost pityingly. “That was different, my dear Stephen. I chose to do that. I chose to sell my arse to keep Merrick and I alive. I would do it again if I had to. It might have been reprehensible, but I don’t regret it. It had to be done.” He took a breath. “But this was not a choice. I was too weak to fight back. I had to take it. From my… brother. And his friend.” He cleared his throat. “Knowing that, how can you tolerate my prick in your mouth? Forgetting that, how can you even stand to be on this bench with me?” 

At another time, Stephen might have silenced him with a kiss, but now was not a time for physical demonstrations of affection. “Lucien, look at me.” When the older man did not lift his head, Stephen knelt down in the ground, in front of him. “Look at me,” he pleaded again. This time, his lover met his gaze. “I lie.” 

Whatever Lucien had been expecting the practitioner to say, that had not been in. He raised his eyebrows and let out an unrefined snort. 

“I lie all the time. I have to: for my job, to protect us, to protect the secrets of others that are not mine to reveal - it might be regrettable, but it cannot be helped,” he paraphrased Crane’s words back at him. Crane almost gave a grin. “On my knees, as a practitioner of magic, and as the man who loves you, I am not lying now.” That had Lucien’s full attention. “Nor am I ‘Fluencing you,” he added for some levity, with a small grin. “Nothing in this world - not your father’s cruelty, not the men you fucked in China, not your smuggling, not the things your brother and Tully made you do - nothing will ever lower you in my eyes. I will _always_ want you Lucien Vaudrey. Always. I will always want you to share my bed, my meals, my sorrows, my joys, my nights, and my days. No matter your past...and quite probably, unless you murdered Esther, no matter your future... I will never forsake you.” He paused and blink hard against the salty tears that had traced their way down his pale cheeks. “I never dreamed something like this--someone like you--could happen to someone like me. But then you walked into my miserable life, and you lit it up. And I will never… do you hear me, _never_ stop loving you. You are my love, and my lord, and _nothing_ your brother did to you will _ever_ make me love you less.” 

Lucien couldn’t respond. His voice was too choked. He pulled the smaller man into his lap, and leaned his forehead against the tingling skin of the practitioner. Wrapping his hand around his lover’s neck, he wept. He felt Stephen's effervescent fingers run through his hair, and rub circles into his shoulders as he cried.

“My beautiful, perfect Stephen,” he whispered raggedly, at last. “It is my sincere and profound privilege to love you, and to have earned your generous heart.” 

* * *


End file.
